


Reassurance

by kisahawklin



Series: Supernatural Season 12 Tagathon [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s12e17 The British Invasion, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 03:14:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10585266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kisahawklin/pseuds/kisahawklin
Summary: Eileen needs some reassurance, and so does Sam.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a cute Sam/Eileen cap, and then porn started happening and then.... this fucking monster.

Eileen clings to Sam, letting his warmth seep into her. She's been cold since it happened, like all the blood drained right out of her. 

The guy'd been a dick, but he was _human_ , and she's never hurt anyone human, not even accidentally or in the line of duty. 

"Shhh," Sam says, and she starts to cry, because she can't help it. She hates to put that on Sam, he carries so much already, but she knows he can help, and that he will help. He always helps.

It's Dean she's embarrassed about, honestly. Sam doesn’t judge, never has, but Dean will think less of her. Dean thinks tears are a weakness, and it will cement his opinion of her.

When she finally backs away from the hug, though, Dean is gone. It's just her and Sam standing in the foyer, and she wipes her eyes. "Sorry."

"It's all right," Sam signs. It's not quite right, the sign, but she appreciates that he tries, and he's been learning quickly. The next sign is right, though. "I understand." 

She knows he does. He doesn't talk about whatever it is that haunts his eyes, but she knows it's bad. Worse than killing a single man by accident. Suddenly she feels bad for asking for comfort from him. She's the one that should be offering. "I'm sorry that you do," she says, and she can feel the shift, the slide of her emotions from grief and self-recrimination to desire and longing for connection with someone. 

She knows about transference, but she doesn't care. There's something human about needing to be touched, to be reassured, in the face of death. 

She sees it in Sam's eyes, too, understanding what's happened in the space of a breath, the shift in her intentions. There's hesitation; she understands that. They've been heading here, flirting for months over Skype, Sam with his boyish grins and Eileen with her flirty smiles. She dresses for telephone calls. It's ridiculous.

And he doubts that she would do this if she weren't grieving, which may be true, or might not. In the end, it doesn't matter. She trusts him, she needs this – and so does he. And neither of them waste time on regrets, so she's sure everything will be okay tomorrow, too.

He's so tall. It's nice, to be enveloped by him, but trying to make a move on someone whose lips you can't reach with your own is tough. "Show me your room, Sam," she says, letting the invitation stand as something that could still be innocent.

He takes her hand, nearly engulfing it with his own, and leads her down the hall to his room. The bunker is impressive; she would like to spend some time here to look around, but she doubts she'll have that chance, at least for a while. 

He leads her down a series of hallways, stopping at a plain door that looks just like all the others. "You're sure?" he asks. 

She reaches around him, turning the doorknob and pushing the door open.

The room is the embodiment of Sam. There are piles and shelves of books everywhere, the only thing in the room that's not impeccably neat, including the military corners on the bed. The room is utilitarian. A wool blanket, a sink with his toothbrush and toothpaste, a bar of soap. There isn't a luxury in sight, nothing of softness, or pleasure.

It strengthens her resolve, and she looks up at him, surprised to see apprehension on his face. He was expecting her to judge him, find him wanting. She takes the hand not currently swallowed by his and squeezes his forearm. Whatever Sam is, he has always been good to her, and the kindness that radiates out of him, whatever it is borne of, is something she is deeply attracted to.

She ducks under his arm and goes in, taking another look around before sitting on the side of the bed. "Are you sure, Sam?" 

He swallows, looks nervous. "I don't want to take advantage of you, in –"

"In my fragile state?" she asks, laughing. He hadn't even bothered to try and sign that, so she knows he's sincere. Flustered, but sincere.

"Well, yeah. If you want to put a point on it."

She stands, taking off her jacket and settling it over the back of the desk chair. 

"I'm in control of myself," she says, lifting her shirt over her head. She stands in front of him, waiting for his eyes to shift off of hers and down to her demi bra, which she hopes shows him she already had plans for the way this hunt was going to end. 

His eyes never leave hers. 

"I want this, and I need it right now, and I think you do too." 

She reaches for the button on her jeans. She wants to reach for _Sam's_ jeans, but she needs him to offer himself, first. She's fairly certain the consent isn't mutual here, yet.

"Are you with me, Sam?" 

She steps out of her jeans, kicking her boots off in the process. She's still in socks, but sometimes you just have to look like an idiot until you get an answer. She's sure, as suave as he is, Sam Winchester will have a moment while undressing that will rival her socks and pretty underwear combo.

He's still unmoving. He can be eerily still sometimes, and it worries her, that he might have retreated from her, that she's coming on too strong. Then he comes back, and his eyes finally, _finally_ , drop to her cleavage. 

They come immediately back up to her face, though, and she meets his gaze steadily, not sure what he's looking for, but certain that she musn't flinch. 

"I'm with you," he says, extending a shaky hand.

She takes it, sliding her other hand up to his elbow and gently swinging them around so his back is to the bed. She nods at it, hoping he gets the idea, and after a moment, he sits.

"Okay?" she asks, hovering her hands over his thighs. 

He nods, and raises his hands, palms up, and she accepts the assistance, steadying herself as she climbs on his lap. She doesn't let go of them when she's settled, either, turning them over and setting them on her rib cage before putting her hands on Sam's neck. 

He has to look up at her this way, and she can smell him, the scent of him wafting up from his shirt. He's warm and the smell is a little damp, like he might be starting to sweat. She shifts herself on his lap, settling her knees next to his hips on the bed.

Sam's hands haven't moved, and she wonders just how much of this she's going to have to drive. She's okay with driving all of it, if that's what Sam wants, but that doesn't feel like what's going on here, and it's odd enough that she stops to ask the question. "Everything okay, Sam?"

He's still looking at her face, his eyes meeting hers, mostly, occasionally flicking somewhere else of note, her hair falling over her shoulder or her mouth, if she speaks. His own face is full of attentiveness, the fire-in-his-eyes glow of research, which they've spent a couple hours geeking out over on Skype. She feels sure of his interest, she just feels like there's something… missing.

He takes his hands off her so he can sign. She appreciates the effort, but he looks at his hands when he signs, which means she can't read his lips, not that she's great shakes at that, either, but it's better than his signing. 

He signs "Haven't done this for" and then something completely unintelligible. Still, it's enough to get the gist. 

"Had sex?" she asks, careful to add a note of teasing and a smile.

He looks down, oddly shy, and looks back up when he speaks, "With someone I care about."

She nods. It's sweet; she feels the same. But she's not interested in turning this into some grand romance. She's looking for something right now, and all this uncertainty is making her doubt herself – which rarely leads to good sex in her experience. "Well, get on board already, Winchester," she says, and the surprise on Sam's face is almost as perfect as the grin that replaces it.

"Aye aye."

Whatever reservations he had, they have apparently been appeased, because Sam takes her face in his hands and tilts his own up to meet her in a kiss. She closes her eyes and lets her instincts take over, inching her way forward on Sam's lap until she's snug against him. 

She can smell him, underneath the shampoo and deodorant and hunting smells that linger on his clothes. She's dreamt of how Sam Winchester smells. It's warmth and goodness and something that tugs on her memories. Part of it is Winchester – there's a part of his scent that Dean shares – but most of it is Sam, and she breathes it in while she kisses him, keeps going back for more, opening her mouth to let it settle on her tongue.

Sam's hands shift to her back, tracing the curve of it as she hunches gently to meet his face. His hands are warm and huge, and leave trails of heat that are only partially friction on her skin. She wants to touch Sam too, but he's still fully clothed, and she plucks at the placket of his shirt, her hands too uncoordinated to manage that sort of detail right now.

She reassesses the idea that Sam will make some awkward undressing faux pas when he lifts both shirts over his head effortlessly with no more than a ruffling of his hair, which actually looks better a little mussed. So unfair.

But now she has skin, the smell of Sam Winchester, and the taste of him. He chases after her when she breaks the kiss, but she just smiles and leans in to taste his neck. His head drops back and she lets her hands wander down his chest, not surprised by the muscles she finds there, but thrilled to feel them under her fingertips anyway. His skin tastes exactly as he smells; it defies description but is simply _right_ , and the scent and taste together will remain something she remembers for a long, long time.

She can feel his breath, the rise and fall of his chest, the way it resonates against her lips on his throat, but there isn't sound until she reaches the bottom of his neck and sets her teeth against his collarbone. Then there's something deep and rich resonating, down in his chest, in his neck, and even in his mouth. His cheek is pressed against the top of her head, and she feels the sound travel the length of him, pleased. If it was a word, she doesn't think it's important, so she continues, licking the skin between her teeth before moving them an inch and repeating the bite and lick maneuver, hoping for another sound. 

She gets it, but she gets more than that, because Sam's hands suddenly spring to life. They'd been nice and warm on her back, touching her skin, supporting her in her slightly precarious position, but he shifts them. He's still supporting her, a steady grip on her ribcage that she knows means he would catch her immediately if she went off balance, but his left hand is under her breast, and his thumb rubs her nipple through the lacy fabric of her bra.

That sends a jolt of pleasure through her, and Sam's thumb just keeps rubbing, back and forth until she squirms against him. His other hand, though, that he slides down her belly and cups her, the heel of his hand giving her pressure that she presses up into. She can smell her own arousal too, now, and she knows she's wet, which might embarrass her a bit, except when Sam's fingers land lightly on her panties, his eyes go half shut like he _likes_ the fact that she's wet already, and oh, yeah, that is perfect. 

His thumb keeps at her nipple, and she keeps pushing against his hand, mindlessly licking at his collarbone because it's what's in front of her, wishing he would find a way around the bra. It's good through the material, but it'd be better on her skin. As if he hears her, Sam's hand shifts, pulling the material of her bra down, settling it under her breast so he has complete access, and mmm, yes, there, Sam's thumb settles right on her nipple, teasing it gently but insistently. 

She gives up on his collarbone for the moment, sitting up and letting her head fall back to enjoy Sam's hands. She hadn't realized it would mean his mouth can get in on the action, but it's a nice side benefit when he peels the other cup of her bra down and sucks her nipple into his mouth. 

There's nothing to do but enjoy it; she hasn't got any thoughts left in her head right now except that she's wet and ready and she's pretty sure it's not his hand she wants down there right now.

He proves her wrong, though, as his fingers slip inside her panties, circling her to grab some wet before going to work insistently on her clit, and fuck, his fingers are long – even the little bit he dips inside her every ten or so strokes is enough to light her on fire, and he's timing his hands just right so they work together, and fuck – 

She crashes over the edge of the orgasm quickly, and Sam pushes his fingers deeper inside her as she does and then he makes that noise again, that sound that resonates against her in his chest and throat. She breathes her way through her orgasm, the pulses slowing down and Sam's hands still, like he knows any movement might ruin it – and now she wonders if that's common, that he knows to do that, or if chance has just matched Sam with other women who react that way. 

When the pulses stop, Sam pulls his hand back slowly, and she brings her head back up to see what might be going on there – but his head is down, like he's concentrating. When his hand is free of her panties, he looks up at her, smiling, and she can't help but smile back. 

His hand is hovering, like he doesn't want to put it on her, but she shakes her head – sex is messy, in her experience, and she takes his wrist to guide it to her skin, but he holds back, shifting trajectory and putting his fingers in his mouth, which surprises an "oh" out of her, especially when his eyes close and his forehead scrunches up like he's concentrating. 

He suckles them for a moment, which is unpredictably hot, and then wipes them on the blanket before returning his hand to her skin, bracketing her rib cage in his hands. 

She feels the pressure of the move a moment before he starts to lift her. He shifts her easily from his lap to the bed, setting her down on her back and standing, _finally_ kicking off his shoes, and unbuttoning his jeans. He does give her the undressing snafu she was looking for, just a little hop as he tries to get out of his second sock, but she can hardly enjoy it, because she's still wearing her own.

She probably should have taken them off while he was stripping, but she wanted to enjoy the show. The body that's covered up by all his weirdly loose clothing is incredible; long legs and muscles everywhere, of course, a huge cock, what else had she expected, really. But considering all the stories she's heard about Sam Winchester since she met him, he has very few scars. None, actually, that she can see. 

That should probably scare her. A lot of the stories about Sam feature inhuman themes, questions about whether he's a monster or a saint or even himself anymore. But Sam sits down at the end of the bed, takes her socked foot in hand, and signs, "May I?," spelling out May like it's the month, which is so chivalrous it almost hurts her. If Sam has gone through even a tenth of what she's heard and turned into _this_? Then he is more human than a lot of people who go through a lot less and turn into monsters.

She nods in answer to his question, and he slides her sock off, kissing the top of her foot. He does the same with the other one, and then reaches a long arm for her panties. She lifts her hips and lets him slide them off, feeling weirdly demure as she keeps her legs together. He can't quite reach her bra from where he's sitting, but he doesn't go for it, anyway. He stands, instead, going around to the foot of the bed and kneeling, patting the edge of it. 

It takes her a moment to understand what he wants. Then when she realizes that the bed is probably not big enough for him to even sleep in, much less go down on her, which she really should have seen coming, she hikes herself down the bed, lifting one leg over the top of his head when she gets to the bottom, which makes him grin. He catches her leg easily and settles it over his shoulder, kissing her thigh. His hands aren't in a position to sign, but he raises his eyebrows in question – he'd caught on to that particular quirk of sign language naturally – and she answers with a vocal "Yes," because she's never been with someone who was so thoughtful in the heat of things.

She'd seen the wet patch on the front of his jeans when he'd stripped, and he was hard when he'd finally pulled them off, so she knows he's into this, despite the fact that she hasn't really been able to discover more about him than a sensitive neck and maybe he likes biting a little. She can't get over how much he simply likes her pleasure, and she promises herself that she'll return the favor, just… after.

He closes his eyes when he goes down on her, and for a moment, she does the same. It's intense at first – his tongue is strong, which is new in her experience, and he knows what he's doing, keeping it mainly on her clit, so it isn't long before she's shaking again, her second orgasm just waiting for that little something to push it over the edge. He keeps her there for a while, long enough that she opens her eyes to see what he's doing, and she can see the desire on his face, how much he is into what he's doing. She just wishes she could do something for him.

His right hand snakes up along her body, reaching for and eventually getting to her breast, thumbing her nipple and that – that was it, that's what she needed, she arches her back to push herself up into his hand, putting her own hand on her other breast and following his rhythm, some perfect asymmetrical rhythm with his tongue, and she's finally coming again, shaking, and sucking in breath when Sam pushes into her with his tongue, feeling his groan as she clenches around him. 

With every orgasm, her energy ebbs a little; she could fall asleep here, Sam's face between her thighs. She gathers her strength and crunches up enough to touch his hair. He looks up at her and smiles, leaning his head into her hand a little. He gently extricates himself from her legs, briefly going to the sink in the room to wipe his face before coming back to the bed. It occurs to her that Sam may be the one that wants to keep things un-messy, that it's not chivalry but preference. She's never met a man like that before, but then again, nothing about Sam Winchester is like any man she's met before.

And that is just about enough of that, she thinks, and when he slides into bed next to her, she lets her own hands roam a little. There's so much of him to touch, and she is dying to get as much of that giant cock in her mouth as possible. He captures her in a kiss before she can follow her hands with her mouth, though, and soon they're making out like a fight, pushing and pulling and she wants more but doesn't know exactly how to get it; he's holding himself back. 

She slips out of the kissing, making her way down his body, intent on giving him a blowjob, but he grips her shoulders firmly when she makes it to his waist. "Please don't," he says, and he looks… regretful. And maybe a little like he expects her to call the whole thing off – like she'd do that after she's up two orgasms to none.

"Why?" she asks, which may be too personal, it may be none of her business, but it sure feels like she has a right to know.

Sam swallows, closing his eyes for a moment while his forehead bunches up. He takes his hands off her and signs, "I only get 1."

She shrugs. That's normal for men. He's not old, but he's not a spring chicken. It'd probably take half an hour or more before he'd be up for a second round. He shakes his head. "Trust me," he signs. 

Maybe he has a hair trigger, she guesses, but whatever, it's only fair that she honor his wishes. She makes her way back up his chest the way she came down, and when she gets back on his level, he takes her face in his hands and kisses her soundly. "Thank you," he signs. She smiles, raises an eyebrow, and returns with the first thing he ever signed to her. "Fuck you."

He laughs, embarrassed now that he knows he basically told her to fuck off way back when. He rolls over and grabs something out of the nightstand. The condom she expects, and appreciates. The lube is a bit more of a mystery. "I can help you with that," she says, as he opens the packet. 

He smiles sheepishly and shakes his head. She examines the lube bottle instead – Astroglide, which makes her impression of Sam twist a little sideways. He takes the lube from her and puts a couple of drops in the condom before he puts it on, all no-nonsense. She figures that's going to be the end of it for the lube, but he coats the outside of the condom too, and she raises her eyebrows. "I'm soaking your bed," she says. He smiles, putting his hand between her legs and circling her with a finger. 

"I know," he says, "I love it. But trust me on this one, better safe than sorry." She's pretty sure he starts circling her clit to keep her from answering, but she's not complaining. 

Well, maybe complaining a little. She wriggles a hand under Sam's waist and gives him a shove, hoping he'll get the picture. He laughs, but takes her direction, lifting himself above her and settling between her legs. "Come on, Sam, stop stalling."

He laughs, a beautiful frequency that resonates in his chest and lights up his face, and comes in for a kiss. She's done waiting, though, so as soon as he does, she wraps her legs around him and scoots downward, trying to get to his cock. He laughs some more and shakes his head, letting his hair fall in her face and tickle her nose. "All right, all right," he signs, still wrong, but closer this time, and then he brings his hands to her hips, and oh, the beautiful slide of him into her is exactly what she wanted, two orgasms be damned. There's nothing like being full, and he was right about the lube, the slick makes it all sooooo easy. 

Sam starts slow, which she appreciates, as getting used to his huge cock takes a minute, but after a few maddeningly slow thrusts, she uses her hips to push the pace, see if she can maybe take away just a little of his over-the-top control. There's no way she'll make it to orgasm number four tonight, so if this is it, she wants to bring him with her.

"Sam," she says, and he stills, immediately meeting her eyes, expecting something to be wrong. She shakes her head, shifting her hips so he knows everything's okay. "Sam," she says again, not even on purpose, his name the only thing she can think while he fucks her so carefully. "Sam, please."

Sam nods, she thinks. He might have just been putting his head down to concentrate, but she thought maybe there was a nod in there. She concentrates on following his movements, trying to wring more out of him, more speed, more depth, more everything. "Come on, Sam."

He slowly cranks things up, speed and rhythm, and she keeps shifting, trying to find just the right angle for him to hit on the upstroke. When she finds it, she arches into it, letting her head fall back and concentrating on the way the sensation builds, spirals upward until she's sure she must have reached the top, except she isn't coming, she isn't even close. Maybe twice is her limit. She's never had more than two orgasms before. 

There's a soft sound resonating in Sam's chest as he follows her lead, upping the pace, deepening his strokes. It's not the deep sound of satisfaction from earlier, but something softer, lighter. Rhythmic. After a moment she realizes it must be a word, and almost immediately she knows what it is – her name. Two syllables, the second smaller than the first, more closely wound. _Eileen._

Sam sounds close, and maybe a little broken, and she shifts again, tries to find what he needs – something deeper maybe, or faster. She pushes her hips down to try another angle, and that makes Sam hitch a wet breath, which she thinks is good, so she keeps her hips low. That shifts something for her, too, and suddenly her orgasm is back on the table, just as Sam's grip tightens on her hips, and it's only two more strokes before she's coming again, clenching satisfyingly around Sam's cock this time, and she can't help the joyful laugh because she always likes putting things on her personal best list. 

Sam stops again, lets her shake her way through it, including sliding herself along his cock a little, at her own pace. When she finally finishes, she locks her legs around his back and slides back up his cock. "Your turn," she says, and clenches once. Sam gives a muffled sound, something almost painful, and presses up into her, slowly. 

He looks up at her, waiting for her to meet his eyes before saying, "Do that again." She does, and he closes his eyes, squeezing them tightly shut. He stays buried inside her. She clenches again, and he shudders. She's never heard of anything like this, but clearly he enjoys it, so she does it again, and after a few more, she starts whispering encouragement, which makes him shudder even harder. "Come on, Sam," she says, softly, just a breath in his ear. "That's it," she says as he pushes deeper when she clenches, and then she says, "Come for me," and he finally comes, the deep rich sound from before wrapped around the two syllables of her name, resonating in his chest and in hers where she's pressing herself to him tightly.

She's completely wiped out, and she would fall asleep if she didn't have two hundred pounds of huge hunter trapping her to the bed on her back. She gives him a little shove. "Asphyxiating here."

He shifts off her and leaves the bed, pitching the condom in the trash and using the towel from before to wipe himself off. She wonders about the cleanliness thing, but it's not something for right now, when she might fall asleep in the middle of his explanation. He brings a warm washcloth to the bed and offers it to her. She wipes herself down, including a quick swipe of her pussy, and takes the towel he offers to finish the job. He unhooks her bra while she's cleaning herself, taking it over to her pile of clothes, folding them and setting them on the desk before grabbing his own and tossing them, and her washcloth and towel, into the hamper.

He gently peels back the blanket, and she turns over and crawls up the bed, happily shoving her legs under the sheets. The wet spot is on the far side of the bed, so when Sam climbs in and pulls her close, she lets him, and falls asleep with her head on his shoulder.

When she wakes the next morning, well before dawn, Sam's awake and playing with a curl of her hair, staring at the ceiling. 

"Morning," she says. It's not a good one, but she feels settled, at least, and knows where she's going next.

"Morning," he whispers into the top of her head. At least, that's her guess. He's not normally so inconsiderate, but it's early, and she can infer enough that it doesn't really bother her.

He realizes his mistake a moment later and signs, "Good morning" in front of her eyes, extremely formally. New signers are always so square.

"How are you," is also done in very precise sign, and she puts her hands on top of his and shifts to look into his face. He lets her press away from him and get settled, freeing up both their hands for signing. 

"I'm okay," she says, signing because he needs the practice. "I've decided to go back to Ireland for a little while."

He nods. Sam has never been one for offering up opinions on courses of action unless they're about hunting. 

"I'll be back soon, though," she signs, giving him an impish grin. "I still want to give you that blowjob." She raises an eyebrow. "Unless today's a new day, and you've got your one time back again."

She's glad she didn't speak. It takes Sam a minute to struggle through all the signs and then laugh. "Long story. And one you really don't want to hear, and I don't want to tell. But, ah, no. Not for a while for me."

He signed over half of those words along with speaking. He really is getting better remarkably quickly. "Well, it's a rain check."

"Absolutely."

When she leaves, Sam gives her a thermos full of coffee, a silver knife she'd admired the day before, and a kiss on the top of the head. She feels like she's going off to school. 

"Don't forget," she says, pulling him down by the collar for a proper good-bye kiss. "I'm coming back to claim that blowjob."

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written het in _years_ , sorry if I'm a little rusty.
> 
> Also, if they joss me on the ending/sequel and she dies, I will be VERY PISSED OFF.


End file.
